


At Sunset

by anelusiveblep



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Sexual Situations, Consensual Sex, F/M, Feels, First Kiss, First Time, Light-Hearted, Love Confessions, My First Fanfic, NSFW, One Shot, Romance, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sign Language, Smut, mute corvo, please be nice i am dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 13:30:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8250787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anelusiveblep/pseuds/anelusiveblep
Summary: Corvo and Jessamine find a quiet, private place to spend time together and watch the sun dip down over the Dunwall Horizon.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first fic i have uploaded in more than a decade (the last ones i uploaded were when i was l IKE TWELVE) please be nice i do not write often, this came out of nowhere, I'm s ORRY
> 
> Also Corvo being mute was inspired by aicosu.tumblr.com's fic Diplomatic Gestures (go find it on fanfic.net) and it's become my resolute headcanon for Corvo.
> 
> Feedback would be nice but please be gentle i am but a humble drawing artist not a writing one and posting this is killing me more than a little.
> 
> [ ] indicates Corvo using ASL btw

The setting sun burned a dull orange behind thin clouds of smog that drifted out from the city, but nevertheless reflected in vibrant colours on the dark ocean water. Twilight was starting to settle; the smog would soon blend into the near-violet night sky and strangle the thin beams of starlight that managed to shine through while the light of the moon would brighten the night, a small coin of white light softened and dispersed through the cloud. 

Oars dipped quietly into the water, barely raising a splash as they milled slowly, steadily, in a near-mechanical fashion. The fine jacket the oarsman wore strained at the shoulder as he pushed and pulled the boat closer to the small outcropping of grass from the rocky shore. His passenger gripped tightly onto a woven basket, her small hands paling at the knuckle with the unnecessary strain that comes from someone whose nerves were playing palpitations in her heart. She watched her companion row with great appreciation and was almost sad to feel the boat bump into the sand and rock as it’s already ponderous pace came to an abrupt stop--she would admit in secrecy that his powerful arms and the way his jacket (tailored for pomp and circumstance, not for hard work) pulled tight at the shoulder and revealed the thick muscle beneath brought a flush to her powdered cheeks. 

He stepped out of the boat and into the shallow water of the shore, holding a hand up to his companion to indicate her to stay seated as he grabbed the small rowboat by the bow and heaved it up onto land. She stood up in the craft, shaking slightly to regain her balance as the hull found purchase in the sand and weeds. Arms preoccupied with the heavy woven basket, she took a cautionary step onto land and was relieved when a strong hand gripped her elbow and steadied her. With a sigh and a smile she set down the basket and freed her feet from her tall boots. 

Together they laid a thick ornamental blanket down and anchored it with their boots. Two small cushions were produced and put aside for the moment while the bottles of Tyvian red became the center of attention. 

Silence reigned awkwardly while Corvo poured two glasses with expertise, overfilling them nearly to the brim. Not that he didn’t know better; he just so happened to have every intention to lighten their burden on the way back. Neither of them minded terribly. 

Jessamine opened her mouth to speak as he poured dangerously close to ‘overflowing’ but with a sudden rush of rebellious excitement, held her tongue. No false pretenses; one bottle each. She caught his eye as he pulled the bottle away and they shared a coy smile over their glasses. 

-chink- An experimental sip. A second, longer sip from Jessamine (she would say ‘out of a desire to release her stress’, but Corvo knew her better and would say ‘out of trepidation and a desire to banish any hesitations she had about this ill-advised traipse up Dunwall river with her Serkonan, newly-appointed Lord Protector’) and a glass placed on the blanket by Corvo. He turned away from her, shrugged off the fitted jacket, and tore the small ribbon from his hair to let it brush his jaw while he watched the tide recede to leave dark seaweed in an ancient language across the dark mud. She watched appreciatively as she knocked back the last of the red and quietly poured herself another glass. 

“Is the sunset better back home?” She asked quietly. Her voice sounded much too loud and much too sudden amidst the quiet. Corvo turned back towards her with the smallest start and a small smile. His hands moved in a flurry at first, but slowed after a few words in obvious consideration for her. 

[I rarely had the chance to see it. never had the chance to enjoy it for too long.] He paused thoughtfully, and his hands moved again.

[less smog though.] She hid a small giggle behind her hand and set down her wineglass to fold her hands in her lap. “Well then, are you at least glad to see the sunset here?” 

[yes.] No hesitation. He picked up his wine and took a hearty swig to hide the flash of teeth that stole briefly across his stoic features. 

Their conversation, stilted and awkward to her--though only because it was only her voice breaking the silence--continued well through the first bottle of wine while the last blue of the sky was stolen, and picked up pace through the second bottle with her laughter (which started as polite chuckles and giggles behind a hand and evolved into raucous glee and deep gasps while she caught her breath and her face began to flush) and his sparse few chuckles and emphatic grunts the only interruption.

He proved to be more talkative tonight--as much as he could be. His smiles started to come more frequently, the knot between his brows gradually loosened, the tenseness in his shoulders seemed to slowly trickle away as the minutes ticked by. With his responses, his gestures grew; his hands seemed to punctuate with more emphasis, his ‘voice’ carrying more emotion and his part in the conversation started becoming less of the listener and more of a storyteller in equal parts with Jessamine. When he came to a pause he would run his hand through his thick hair and click his teeth together ever so slightly. Jessamine would wait with baited breath for him to continue, thinking that had he not lost his tongue, he would have been a loquacious storyteller despite his introversion. As the wine poured past his lips his signs became a little less crisp; she found herself puzzling over some of his words more, and would have to wait for him to mime them out when he couldn’t think of an symbolic synonym. His short speeches became punctuated with shrugs and the circling of wrists one does when searching for a word just beyond the reach of their vocabulary. Laughter that only came in the form of quick huffs behind a smirk evolved into deep chuckles that seemed to rumble up from his chest.

She found herself growing fonder of him by the minute. Though it had been seven years, almost to the day, that they had met, she had never seen him like this. He seemed so open, so free, so alive. The man was one she trusted with her life--a trust that had proven fruitful on more than a few occasions--and yet despite their friendship, she still had not had ample opportunity to get to know him. They spent all their time together but little of that was private, little of that was spent being able to speak with him deeply and openly and honestly and in an environment where she could trust that they weren’t being hounded by one official or another. Despite their closeness and their friendship she could feel a shift in their relationship the same way one feels a shift in air pressure; it’s not something that can be felt suddenly but only subtly, something that doesn’t become apparent until retrospection when the change has been completed and has long been passed, but she felt it like a dim awareness of a dawning of a realization in her subconscious--she felt softer. She felt like the edges between herself and Corvo blurred a little bit and she could see him change, like his colour became a little more saturated, and he became a little more real.

They shared a long laugh, hearty on both sides, that rang off of the tall rock walls surrounding them. The echoes faded into a comfortable silence, replaced by the swishing of the wind blowing up from the river. 

Her hair gradually began to loosen from the french twist just as the pale sliver of a moon emerged from the deepening violet. Her sleeves unfastened and rolled up to her elbows when blue-black started to steal the highest points of the sky. The first few clasps of her shirt came undone and revealed a delicate neck and a significant swath of pale chest while the stars finally peeked faintly through the smog--and Corvo’s chuckle abruptly turned into a cough--and even in the calm, her heart pounded in her chest. With anticipation or fear, she couldn’t say (and she didn’t know it, but Corvo’s usually calm pulse was quickening as her clean cut Empress regalia flaked away piece by piece). 

As the evening wandered on and the night came ever closer, her eyes were started to stray, and her mind with it; she looked him over with great appreciation, wandering up his long legs and his thick chest, tracing the rough lines of his jaw and the softness of his mouth. She would never have denied his appeal, but couldn’t admit in good conscience as Empress, her captivation with him. 

Just as the sun was starting to dip behind the distant mountains across the large expanse of sea, Corvo responded to her with a delighted laugh, almost a bark for it’s brevity. His smile showed teeth for a few minutes afterwards as they both chuckled, equal amounts of red in the cheeks and in the stomachs. Jessamine traced her mouth with her tongue and bit her lip, tearing her eyes away from him the way his eyes crease his lips stretched in a smile and his cheeks showed the slightest divot in the corner and scooched herself a few inches closer to pour the remaining dregs of wine into his empty glass. She could feel that eminent aura of heat that floats around a person, and fancied that if she held her breath, she could feel his heartbeat slow, steady, solid drumming a low baseline in his chest. 

With the exact lack of subtlety that nearly everyone gets after enough wine, she pulled herself closer to lean her head on his shoulder. Her knees pulled up, pressed firmly against his outstretched leg, and she became dimly aware that her shuffling on the blanket knocked over her empty wineglass far enough away that it seemed an unnecessary journey to travel over and save the blanket from what was sure to be an inconsequential stain (she would later discover that this wasn’t so; she hadn’t licked the glass clean and so the wine trickled a hand’s length on the pale embroidery.) The arm that propped him up slid behind her to accommodate for her sudden ‘sleepiness’ and she closed her eyes with a lazy smile. She didn’t catch his look down at her, his eyes moving slower than he would have liked and more glazed over than he was used to, his face softening as he watched the smile break across her flushed face, only turning with a jerk back to the lapping of the water when he caught the edge of lace that peeked out from her open blouse. 

She felt him shift ever so slightly and opened her eyes to find that her head had sunk somehow lower and that she was now resting her head firmly on his breast, and realized that he was unbuttoning his vest. To keep cool, she reasoned to herself, the alcohol makes him warm. Her internal dialogue went to make further comment and she quashed it quickly, suddenly afraid that he could read her mind. He lifted her head to remove his vest and she sat up with some difficulty; though, and she would never admit it (there was a lot about this situation that she would never admit to), she was not displeased with being able to better see his forearms, his calloused hands folding his vest with care, and the small ‘v’ of brown chest that poked with stark contrast out of the top of his white dress shirt. He undid another button of his shirt and a slight breeze came in from off the water that seemed to knock Jessamine off-balance. She just barely caught herself from tipping over and laughed to herself about this. 

Jessamine knocked back a large chunk of the nearest glass of wine in a single large gulp and the chilly breeze that comes with the stars stopped bothering her. Her stomach, her chest, her face, were all of a pleasant, tingling warmth. She could feel her posture slip away to a comfortable slouch and leaned back on her elbow beside Corvo. A deep shuddering sigh escaped her, bringing with it her stress, her reservations, the last vestiges of her sobriety. She turned to watch a similar sigh escape him with the gentle deflation of his chest, his eyes closing with what could only be described as the ecstasy of peace. Her expression softened and an affectionate hum slipped up from her throat.

Corvo turned with question to look at her, just missing her gaze as she turned back to watch the orange light fade from the horizon and in turn, appreciated the wine-flush reddening her pale cheeks, the strands of her hair blowing gently across her neck, and the slight ruffling of her blouse across her narrow chest. He quickly stole a long chug straight from the second bottle while she was distracted, poured himself a hefty splash in his glass and drank that as well. The lipstick on the rim of the glass didn’t escape his notice, but he refused to admit to himself that he quite enjoyed it. 

Her fingers found with some difficulty the pin in her hair and ripped it out none too gently. It fell with a whump down her back, still wispy and a little unkempt from the boat ride over and a day spent pulled back from her face. She quickly combed her fingers through and glanced to the side just in time to catch Corvo watching her in a semi-drunken trance. 

They sat like that for a moment, simply watching one another exist in time and space. The dimming yellow light continued its extended descent below the horizon, the stars began to brighten, growing more in number as the seconds passed and the ocean breeze whispered around them. The tide had now pulled out and the seaweed, damp but drying, now seemed to show a paragraph of letters almost recognizable but too foreign to translate. Small shells punctuated the sand here and there, wet ridges glistening with the light of the dying sun.

To Jessamine, it felt as if her limbs and body were moving through a pool of molasses; to Corvo, it was a move of unprecedented speed. She closed the short distance between them (however slowly) and broke their stare, pressing her mouth clumsily against his. Their noses squished together and the angle with which she approached twisted Jessamine’s back in a profoundly uncomfortable way, but the wine dimmed all but the heat in her face and the sound of her breath, the sound of Corvo’s sharp inhale and the heat emanating from his face. 

She moved her lips against his, suddenly acting with a fervor that had been waiting an eternity for an escape. For a moment his mouth seemed to ease into her kiss, but he abruptly stiffened and she could feel his jaw clench tight. Then, hands on her shoulders, pushing her away. A string of saliva joined their lips for a moment, broke, and she realized that her mouth was uncomfortably wet and Corvo’s lips shone. Kissing was apparently not a talent that carried over into the land of drunkenness. 

Corvo gripped her by the shoulders, holding her firmly at arm’s distance. His eyes were wide, bewildered, and she thought jokingly he CAN emote! before he pulled his hands away and started rapidly signing at her with concern quickly stealing over his features.

[Empress, you’re drunk. Too much wine.] He paused a moment, brows re-knotting in the middle and the characteristic grimace taking over his face. The tenseness came back to his body in a fraction of the speed it had taken to disappear. His hands moved slower and with more precision. [I’m drunk.] His back straightened out and he folded his hands in his lap, wavering slightly despite the acute awareness to his form. 

[I won’t take advantage of you] Jessamine wiped her mouth on her sleeve, her face suddenly burning not only with wine-drunk but with a profound sense of shame. “Stupid,” she muttered to herself, feeling the familiar sting in her eyes of the tears that come so much easier after alcohol has been introduced to the mix, “Outsider’s ass, that was stupid.” She sat up and folded her legs, grasping blindly through blurred vision to find the wine bottles that had been cast aside. Her eyes stayed resolutely away from the stillness of her Lord Protector, her closest friend, the man that had so quickly become an anchor for her in a chaotic swirl of policies, government, arguments, councils, and all the ills that come from ruling. 

He signed, [You’re not stupid. I’m sorry], but it was lost on her averted gaze. She finally found the wine bottles and tilted them back above her open mouth, tongue catching the very last few drops from each bottle. Corvo had to stifle a smile at this, but knew that this was a treasured sight no one else would ever see. A glimpse into the heart of the Empress, not only a reigning dignitary but also a very human young woman who had quirks and silliness like anyone else.

Jessamine set down the bottles in turn and wiped at her eyes. With a deep breath she brought her wavering gaze back to meet his. “Corvo, that wasn’t impulse. I wanted that before the wine. I’m not too drunk to regret any of my actions. You…” she trailed off, the strong voice that rang through the night suddenly faltering and becoming quiet like a child whispering in fear at the dark. She averted her gaze again and suddenly found great interest in her hands. If she finished the statement, Corvo never heard it. The bravery that comes with wine seemed to rapidly recede from her and that brief moment of Empress faded away into that of insecurity.

He signed something at her, but she only saw a flurry of movement out of the corner of her eye. Her imperial pride insisted on self-defense, on stubbornly supporting herself, but she couldn’t help the well of embarrassment that sprung up inside her. She raised her chin back to him again with her face set as hard as she could manage to stave off her insecurity just in time to catch the last of what he was saying. [...anything you regret.] A blush covered his cheeks and his hands, folded in his lap in what was supposed to be a serene and neutral manner, were gripping each other with significant force, knuckles a stark white against his dark skin. She asked him to repeat himself and he complied but his hands were slow and unsure. 

[It was not something I didn’t like.] A pause, [I’m drunk. You’re drunk. I don’t want you to do anything you regret]. He lowered his hands back to his lap and hesitated a moment, thinking, before raising them again. 

His hands hovered in the air a moment before continuing, [I would like…] He rotated his wrists in search of the correct term, before settling on [...that.] 

At this point, the last of the sun’s light had been lost below the horizon and the distant mountains were silhouetted by the gray-lavender of twilight. The diffused light of the half-moon was bright enough, but still Corvo fumbled for a small oil lantern and set it aside to cast a pale glow on their small site.

They stared at each other for a moment, Corvo’s eyes searching almost frantically, she thought to herself, and her liquored mind struggling for a response. 

With an uncharacteristic lack of decor, and after unconsciously letting her teeth drag across her lower lip (the man watched this with great interest), she said, “Sex?” 

Their gaze held, each assessing, each in some form of shock at her lack of subtlety and each struggling through a slowly sobering mind for self-imposed situational advice. Corvo raised his hands slowly, with care as though he were approaching a feral hound. 

[Yes.]

It took a moment to register in Jessamine’s mind, but when it did the flush returned to her face and she was suddenly hot despite the cool evening and her state of undress. She chewed her lip uncertainly, thoughts suddenly rushing through her with a mix of thrill and trepidation. This time she was unable to prevent her thoughts from turning to places she only saw in good dreams and the shiver that ran through her ended in her toes curling in the blanket. Her eyes met his and in them she could see a reflection of her mind. 

She rolled onto her knees and closed the small gap between them with no further hesitation. Her eyes remained squarely on his, challenging, eager, and her hand alighted delicately on his chest with a finger hooking into the open gap in his shirt. He opened his mouth slightly to let out a held breath, more of a huff that seemed to hold endless anticipation in it. His black eyes crawled over her, lingering a moment on the blouse that now hung low enough for him to appreciate the delicacy of the dark blue lace that cupped her small breasts. He seemed to waver slightly under her hand, unsure, almost afraid, and her hand dipped further into his shirt to rub comforting circles over his collar, shoulder, chest, up his neck, finally stopping with fingers entangled in his coarse hair. She could feel him tense further and bit her lip, only inches away from his face.

Her heart pounded so hard and so fast she was sure he could see it beating frantically against her breast, but she very slowly settled back down on her knees and brought her other hand to rest on the blanket right beside his hip for balance. The warmth that emanated from him suddenly seemed to envelope her and she wanted to relish that, wanted to wrap that warmth around every part of her body. He shifted slightly to make their shoulders touched, and with a long sigh closed the distance between their lips.

This kiss was much softer; Corvo was after all, a gentleman, but the tenderness with which his lips pressed against hers served to melt her as if she were still a pining, lovesick adolescent. He tilted his head, their noses sliding past one another, and brought a calloused hand up to her back to encircle her with his arms. The sound of their lips moving over each other’s seemed to dance in time with the gentle lap of the tide upon the shore, the scarce ragged breaths and huffs joining the melody alongside the sounds of insects and wind in the grass around them. 

She felt his other hand gently caress the back of her neck through a thick curtain of hair and she pulled away from him momentarily to open her eyes. The world was darker now, the twilight disappearing with a startling speed to actual night although violet still touched the western skies and flickering of the lantern cast a glow about them. Her breaths came hard and fast and there was the ever so slight presence of fog between their mouths but despite this a shiver ran up her spine. They parted momentarily for heavy catches of breath and she pulled her hand out of his hair to trace down his chest. She watched his expression carefully, waiting for a sign of rejection as she began to fiddle with the buttons. The hand on her neck abruptly moved down to her hip and he guided her leg over his lap with a shy smile that he joined with hers. With the confidence of a seasoned woman she started tearing at the remaining buttons and the hand she had used to balance herself tugged his shirt off of his shoulder. She let out a small humm, broke the kiss to touch her forehead to his, and rejoined their lips hard enough to press Corvo back slightly. His core tensed between her thighs and to avoid falling onto the blanket he tilted her backward and began kissing the open expanse of her pale chest. Jessamine erupted into gooseflesh and her breath hitched slightly as her hands wound quickly around his neck. She had only managed a few buttons of his shirt; the combination of her well-manicured nails and no small amount of Tyvian red rendered her manual dexterity nearly useless. She tilted her head back and let out a long sigh that ended in a small moan that was quiet enough to avoid detection but significant enough to be felt with a small rumble under Corvo’s administrations. 

Her blouse became undone; at some point, his shirt ripped out of his pants and actually lost a button or two as it was torn none-too-gently open. Her thighs became weak when his mouth closed over her the innermost protrusion of her collarbone (she almost expected to feel a tongue, but remembered with a small start that he was missing most of his) and her hips came to rest hard upon his lap, eliciting a long shudder from him--and his teeth bit gently down on her neck ,his hands gripped onto her hips, his arms felt hot against the tops of her covered thighs, and her body clenched, toes curling, back arching, teeth clamping down firmly on her lip. The cool air seemed to steam from their joining. 

The tide of the ocean seemed so far away from them now, and were they looking they would have noticed it had receded another length of the rowboat past the stern, the moonlight reflecting silver off of the shudders that rippled across the width of the river. The grass surrounding their blanket whispered in the breeze, crickets and other insects reaching a crescendo in their evening song. All of this was lost on the two, caught up in the scent of sweat and the sweet chills where their flesh touched. 

Soon two sets of hands were scrambling frantically and with no small amount of laughter at the clasp to Jessamine’s bra. She stood straight on her knees above him and began to fumble at her belt. Biting her lip, she removed it and watched his hungry eyes roam over her. The bra was still strapped on her shoulders but hung tantalizingly away from her body and her blouse, still on, covered her hips as she dismounted to slide her trousers down to her knees. 

She swore then, and stumbled to her feet with Corvo’s hearty laughter. He followed shortly and with difficulty worked at his own trousers, aided somehow with no actual help by Jessamine’s mischievous hands. They kicked what clothes had been discarded out of the way and Jessamine sat down hard on the blanket, grabbing Corvo’s hand and pulling him with her. 

(he was courteous enough to grab a stray cushion and put it beneath her head as she lay back and pulled him down onto her with a significant thump) 

They joined back at the mouth for a moment while Corvo propped himself up with his elbows. Her arms wrapped fully and with surprising strength, kept him pressed flush against her and effectively extinguished his balance. He tipped then, not wanting to crush her and not having enough care to properly right himself, and fell to his side beside her. A giggle escaped her and she nibbled playfully at his lip while her leg lifted over his, both of them becoming all too aware of her crotch pressing with vivacity against him.

For what seemed an eternity, they stayed like that: their huffs and subsonic moans quieted; their lips broke and rejoined with soft, wet noises, and in the breaks they breathed in each other’s wine-shrouded breath. Corvo’s left hand lay trapped under her head and was only able to play lazily with her hair, while his other rubbed gently at her breast; Jessamine’s right arm folded uselessly between them and her hand traced endless circles and patterns up and down his exposed chest. She lingered delicately over the bumps and ridges that indicated scars; bullet wounds and knife wounds alike, all formed a rich tapestry across his abdomen that spelled out his life’s story. When she pressed her hand flat she could feel the rise and fall of his breathing, breathing that came faster as her hand seemed to drift southward all on its own.

Eventually in the liquor-blurred evening they joined; their hips ground together, breaths grew shallower, faster, small noises of encouragement and effort eclipsed the whispering of the grass, sweat beaded on skin, her legs trembled and his shoulders shuddered, hands grasped desperately at each other and at the blanket for purchase (a small clump of grass was ripped up in the scramble), and although the night was dark, with the very last bit of violet steadily disappearing over the horizon, colours seemed to burst behind their eyelids and the lantern light danced enticingly across their skin. 

Jessamine rolled onto her back to wrap both legs around Corvo’s thighs, her moans becoming higher and louder, arching up from the blanket with his hand holding the small of her back. She clawed at his shoulders and wove her fingers in his hair. Her head rolled back and without realizing she had screwed her eyes shut she opened them and the bright starry sky roiled above her, endless circles of fuzzy white against a hazy midnight backdrop. The growing tension at the pit of her belly seemed to swell and burn, running up her spine and into the back of her throat. With his cheek pressed against hers, his lips scraping her neck, her jaw, her ear, she heard his breaths go quicker and low rumbling groans ease out his mouth just as her own heightened in pitch. The hand holding her hips snaked around and deft fingers found her mound; her heels dug into the backs of his thighs he’s going to bruise she thought with a spot of humor--and then the pace of his hips grew more erratic, she felt his legs tense and he pawed at her with a frightening proficiency, he sat up slightly from her and his half-lidded eyes met hers. She half-watched his jaw flex as his teeth gritted, his beautiful dark eyes fluttering open and shut, the sweat beading on his forehead just above her.

Her gaze alternated between his face and the sky above them, never seeming able to find purchase on one thing or another, that building pressure in her body escalating rapidly until her throat clenched shut and her open mouth yielded no noise; her body tensed and her hips bucked fervently, her breath held for a moment and then came with great heaving pants. Her eyes closed as heavy shudders ran through her body, suddenly exhausted and numbed. She felt Corvo’s body tense similarly and his hands, shaking, shot to her hips with what seemed like a death grip--I’m going to bruise--for those last few shivering thrusts. He closed the distance between them and laid clumsy kisses along her cheek, her neck, seeming just to want to shower her with them as opposed to asking for reciprocation. She wrapped her hands around his waist and dragged her nails across his lower back, her hips still colliding against his with a tired enthusiasm.   
The last of his breaths were spent against her neck as his orgasm came in shudders and flexions, the warmth from his mouth moist on her skin. Gently he let her hips down and lay beside her, eyes closed and chest heaving. 

She watched him with the unsure vision of someone stumbling back towards sobriety, her body still tender and shaking with no help from the cold air. He turned towards her and returned her lazy grin. His hands raised briefly from his abdomen as if he were going to speak, but dropped back down as a short laugh huffed from him. They both became dimly aware again of the crickets chirping in the rustling grass, and the ocean waves caressing the beach. 

Jessamine rolled onto her side with the notice of an ache in her groin--something she couldn’t care about now but certainly would later--and ran her hand across his chest to relish the feel of the sweat beading on his hot skin. She traced small lines of raised scar tissue, followed the definition of muscle, the hair that rose past his navel and down from his chest, let her fingers wander down his body to take his length in her hand. His exhausted body tensed and the heaving breaths that had started to slow hitched in his throat with a small whine. He propped himself up on his side and dragged her lazily against him. He nuzzled her nose and lay a few small kisses as she toyed with the still firm weight of him in her hand, massaging and rubbing small circles up his shaft, taking an adventurous reach down to cup him with a solid grip. She delighted in his hips pressing up to meet her hand and continued to grope him, when his own hand ventured back down to slip between her thighs. 

They shared breaths that ever so slowly grew in pace, with their foreheads touching and their lips grazing one another. Small moans slipped into the small space between them. Their faces grew hot with the other’s breath while their bodies began to chill in the cool night air. They were lazy, and tired, and fumbling each other not with the previous fervent enthusiasm but with a relaxed gaiety that let them enjoy the simplicity of being together. 

The moon was now nearing its crescendo in the sky and its pale light, unobscured now that the smog clouds had dissipated, shone off the sweat that had beaded and trailed down their skin in winding rivulets. Jessamine’s hand trailed away and traced back up her Protector’s sinewy side to come to rest on his chest, fingers curled with her wrist resting between her small breasts. He shifted to press their groins together with a mutual moan, gave her a long, wet kiss, and stole his hand up to cup her breast once more. Gooseflesh started making an appearance on both of them as the adrenaline died down but the alcohol, now wearing off, was no longer giving them immunity to the cold. 

The blanket was thrown over them, each end meeting in the middle of their bodies. They tangled their legs together and shared a small laugh as they stuck hands out the top of their cocoon and rummaged around for the other small cushion that had accompanied them to this small outcropping; Jessamine had claimed one when she had been rolled over and handled by her partner, but the other had been lost in the kerfuffle. 

Their eyes met and they rested like that for a long while until the weariness took over and the shared warmth of their drained bodies lulled them to sleep, one after another. Neither of them noticed the tide slip back in and lick the stern of the small boat, nor did they wake to the moon disappearing beneath the horizon and into the morning mist that rolled off the water. The first dimmed rays of sunlight broke the dawn in the east, shining on Dunwall windows and streets. Birds began their songs, yielding the return of sunlight, and the lovers slept on. Corvo woke first; woke many times, in fact, but remained still and let himself drift between dreams and dawn for the sake of his Empress’ much needed rest. The morning slipped from the dark blue of dusk to the purples and pinks of a time too early to be recognized by any but the military, to a hazy orange light filtered by a mist that would dissipate as the sun rose higher in the sky. 

Their shed clothes lay tangled in their legs and underneath their sleeping forms, and the wine bottles rested above their heads on the ground with the woven basket from whence they came. 

This place was secure in that it was only reachable by boat and had no other special attributes which would draw people to it. It was a spot that had been spied by a boat on its way to another, more useful destination. 

It would have a special place in the hearts of two people for the years following. The wine bottles were left there and, year after year, grew in number. The embroidered blanket grew thinner, acquired more Tyvian red, started to tear and fray in some places, and would need to be replaced--but wouldn’t be for a long while, much past its threshold of use. The woven basket would bring more and more for longer voyages; fruits, cheeses, breads, ales, brandies, whiskeys, rums, a second blanket, a change of clothes, an umbrella, et cetera. 

When they woke it was with the affection of a couple of newlyweds--sweet kisses scattered over faces, eager hands roving over bodies freshened by sleep, hangovers forgotten in the bliss of new lovers and their youth, aching and messy bodies squirming together in the early morning light. 

When they woke, it was the start of something new.


End file.
